


Public Relations

by DustToDust



Category: Again: Interactive Crime Novel
Genre: M/M, Office Blow Jobs, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: Rattling people is what Lanedoes, everyone's got a point where they give a little, and he's going to find that point in Weaver eventually.
Relationships: Jonathan Weaver/Lane Martinez
Kudos: 3





	Public Relations

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from a deleted pen-name. I tried following the Hotel Dusk thread down and ended up with this game. Too short, not enough ends tied up, and I wish there'd been more of that grand old bastard Lane Martinez.

"You got arms," Lane said, right thumb jerking up towards the top of the rack where more dust than evidence was collected. "Get it yourself."

Weaver looked at the evidence room's racks silently. If he was upset or dismayed at Lane's attitude the man didn't show it. Just scanned the shelves for the files he'd wanted with that same neutrally pleasant expression he'd had on since the FBI had decided to stick it's nose in police business.

Lane couldn't tell what irritated him more. The fact that the FBI was involving itself, or the fact that he couldn't get one single rise out of this man. The pretty blonde had been easier to crack than him, even though all he'd gotten out of her was matching aggression. It was _something_ at least. Weaver didn't give anything away. He smiled at insults, shrugged at aggression, and outright ignored everything else Lane tried on him.

For a man who made his living riling people up it was more than a little frustrating to be dealing with someone who was truly unflappable.

Weaver located the files he was looking for and reached up to grab them. He was just tall enough to reach the top shelf by stretching up. An action which made his suit jacket ride up, reminding Lane that the blonde wasn't the only pretty FBI agent he'd had to deal with lately.

Seriously, was it something that they looked for in candidates? Disgruntled at the direction of his thoughts, Lane snapped, "Are you done wasting my time now? 'Cause I've got a case to run if that's alright with you."

"I told you before, we're willing to cooperate with the police in anyway we can," Weaver said with a PR worthy smile in place as he turned around. Not seeming to notice the dust floating around --but not on-- him. "You've been a real help to us. Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all, just ask."

"Yeah, sure, I got something you can do for me. You can get on your knees and blow me," Lane carefully enunciated each syllable with a broad grin in place. Just to see what _that_ might get out of the FBI agent. Years of interrogations making him carefully watch for something, anything that would tell him where next to strike. The slightest flinch or shift to let him now he might finally be getting somewhere.

Weaver gave him nothing. Didn't even blink out of turn, only regarded him with those serious dark eyes. Measuring Lane's words and formulating a response that Lane bet would be as bland as possible just to piss him-

"Alright," Weaver said, completely breaking Lane's train of thought and almost derailing his mind entirely as he carefully set the box on the closest table. Lane watched in fascination as the man stepped closer to him.

Common sense knocked somewhere in the back of Lane's head. Back in the part that wasn't preoccupied with Weaver dropping gracefully to his knees, spider thin hands making quick work of his jeans. It pointed out that they were in an unlocked room in the middle of the precinct, and asked what the hell Lane thought he was doing with an _FBI_ agent he didn't even like so much.

Common sense took a back seat to his libido though at the warmth of another hand working through his jeans. Lane leaned back against the shelf behind him and watched, riveted, as the agent fished his dick out without hesitation. Mouth opening just wide enough to let his tongue out to flick at the head. Teasing little licks that made quick work of getting Lane rock hard. The man had done this before, had to have. 

"Get on with it," Lane grunted. 

Weaver glanced up, and hell if the angle didn't make his eyelashes seem ridiculously long. Wet lips stretched around his dick as a surprisingly calloused hand gripped the base. Lane had to concentrate hard on not coming right then. The sight of the pretty looking FBI agent on his knees almost too much to handle. Not to mention the _feeling_ of his mouth. Sinfully hot and wet, moving up and down his dick as Weaver started bobbing his head.

Good fucking God. Lane groaned and let his head roll back to thunk onto the shelf behind him. No longer feeling the way the cold metal dug uncomfortably into his back. Not really feeling anything at all except for the wonderful mouth working his dick like a pro. He reached down blindly and grabbed a handful of too long hair. Feeling the slight crackle of dried hair gel as he held on, cupping the back of Weaver's head. Pressing --just a little, he wasn't a complete bastard-- down, urging him on faster. 

Weaver, surprisingly, complied. Mouth opening wider to take more of Lane in, the hand around the base of his shaft tightened and began to pull in time with each bob of his head. And that just felt far too damn good. Lane stifled a moan behind clenched teeth. Letting his breath hiss out as Weaver did something with his tongue that made his knees want to give.

"You gonna swallow?" Lane grunted out as a warning as he felt himself getting close to coming. That far too talented mouth too much after a long dry spell. Weaver hummed in response. The vibration made Lane choke on his own spit, fingers tugging painfully hard on the other man's hair as he shot his brain out through his dick. "Fuck-"

And Weaver swallowed. Lane could feel it around his dick and couldn't hold back an approving moan as his hips jerked forward. No question in his mind that the other man had done this before, many times, and loved every minute of it. 

Lane sagged against the shelf. Letting the rickety thing take more of his weight than it should as he panted. Looking down just in time to see Weaver pull off of his limp dick. In that moment of bliss filled afterglow he felt like he could almost like the FBI agent.

The moment was over as quickly as it'd come though. Weaver was still an interfering prick. They were in the middle of the precinct and resting with his dick out was just asking for trouble. It was a minor miracle they hadn't been discovered before now.

Lane worked his jeans closed with pleasure clumsy hands. Fumbling with the button and not looking at the man still kneeling before him. Common sense was finally speaking back up and it was informing him what a bad decision this had been. It'd been too long since he last got good head and he wasn't particularly looking forward to the awkward moment afterwards.

Weaver stood up before Lane could think of anything to say. Hands smoothing down his tie and face as calm as ever.

There wasn't a single hair out of place or wrinkle in the man's suit. Not even, Lane glanced down, a single speck of dirt marred the man's knees. It was in-fucking-credible. Lane knew damn well he probably looked every bit as fucked as he felt, and he hadn't done a thing but come his brains out. He'd be lucky if no one called him on it before he could get to the locker room and straighten himself out.

"Well," Lane growled when he was sure his voice would come out right. "You got something else you need?"

It was as much of a challenge as a question and they both knew it. Lane wasn't going to offer anything up. If the other man wanted anything from him he'd have to take it. Lane grinned at the thought, wondering if Weaver had the balls to even try. Wondering what that pretty face might look like when that calm shell finally cracked.

Weaver carefully picked the file box back up, mindful of the weak corners. He walked towards the door and for a moment Lane thought he wouldn't get an answer. Relief and disappointment flared in him.

"Not right now," Weaver stopped at the door, shifting the box under one arm, and looked back at Lane. His forehead furrowed in a slight frown as those dark eyes regarded him for a few seconds. Calm and still not giving one damned thing away. The frown eased as Weaver nodded, a dark look settling in his eyes, "I'll be back later though."

There was no trace of a question in his voice. Lane gave a mocking whistle as the man left the room. Feeling a shiver of anticipation he hadn't felt in much too long.


End file.
